


your hand fits in mine (like it was made for it)

by justprompts



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Basically Everything Soulmate-wise, Canon Compliant, Enemy Soulmarks, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Not Epilogue Compliant, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate Visions, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Soulmates, The Golden Trio Era (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-23 18:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30059766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justprompts/pseuds/justprompts
Summary: "From next year," Aunt Petunia told Harry, looking hesitant. "You will get up on your birthday and write down what you dreamt of, the night before."Harry nodded a little. "Er," he began."Every night before your birthday," Aunt Petunia looked like she was physically pained to say this. "You will dream something special, called a Vision, that will help you find your - yoursoulmate."Soulmate?
Relationships: Cassius Warrington/George Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood, Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Theodore Nott/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 27
Kudos: 106





	1. you're tangled in my soul

**Author's Note:**

> _hello_! okay, ik what you're thinking, but this time, this story, I'm sort of committed. i swear i am. it's still a little iffy, but it's basically entirely canon compliant up until the Epilogue, but there are some things different, obviously bcoz of the whole premise. I'll keep adding the relationship tags as i go along, because believe me, there are _many._
> 
> i really hope you enjoy it, because i enjoyed writing it, and well. its sorta complicated, its like _all_ the soulmate prompts just mixed in together like they're all just clubbed (there're visions and marks and timers and first words and last words and basically anything that struck me while i wrote) there's a small explanation in the beginning but i think you'll start getting it better if you stick to it,,,
> 
> also, here's something that I've never promised before,, _regular_ updates. ok mostly regular. Before you start, i would _love_ it if you tried two of my new fics, here,  
>  _[you're more than just a heartbeat (in a world that forgets to love)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/30015705)  
> [there's a warrior in the mirror (he is also a child)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/30017325)  
> _

_________  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry Potter  _loved_ his birthdays.  
  
  
That wasn't to say that the Dursleys ever did anything much for him, no, but it was the night of the  _Visions_ .  
  
  
Aunt Petunia had told him about them on his seventh birthday, and he often wondered what Visions he had received before that age, because, of course - he didn't remember them anymore.   
  
  
"Did you dream about anything last night?" Aunt Petunia asked, abruptly, tersely, right after Uncle Vernon went out the front door and Dudley left to go to Piers's house. Harry almost upset the frying pan in his hand, so shocking was the question - Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon  _never_ wanted to hear about things as  _abnormal_ and  _imaginary_ as Harry’s dreams tended to be.  
  
  
"I - nothing new," Harry mumbled, eyes wide as he avoided Aunt Petunia's eyes, focusing his gaze instead on the scars on his wrists, both red, angry gashes, even though it had been a long time since he'd gotten them burnt.   
  
  
They weren't keloidal scars, just pink, flat and harsh.  
  
  
"I don't remember any dream, actually," he added, because she had pursed her lips in apparent annoyance.   
  
"From next year," she said, looking hesitant. "You will get up on your birthday and write down what you dreamt of, the night before."  
  
That was weird, in itself, but also very hurtful - because Harry had somehow convinced himself that nobody had wished him on his birthday because they were simply forgetful.   
  
Also, he didn't remember Aunt Petunia telling  _Dudley_ to do anything like that.  
  
  
He nodded a little. "Er," he began.  
  
  
"Every night before your birthday," Aunt Petunia looked like she was physically pained to say this. "You will dream something special, called a Vision, that will help you find your - your  _soulmate_ ."  
  
  
_Soulmate?_   
  
  
"Er," Harry said, again, blinking at her. "I didn't know - "  
  
  
"You will never mention it in front of anyone," she cut in, firm. "Ever. Just write down your birthday night Vision, and - and do not tell anyone about it. That's all."  
  
  
"What is a soul - " Harry began, feeling overwhelmed. He could guess, but  _surely things like that were just stories?_   
  
  
"You're burning the bacon, boy!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, suddenly, and Harry bit his tongue.  
  
  
He went to the Primary School Library the next day, and asked Ms. Gina all about Soulmates, and checked out as many books as he could without Uncle Vernon finding out about them.  
  
  
_There was somebody out there who was destined to love Harry. Who was made for Harry. It could even be more than one person._   
  
  
But now, Harry was three hours away from his eighth birthday, and it was time for him to get his first Vision. He usually didn't sleep till midnight on his birthday, but he couldn't afford to miss his first Vision.   
  
  
His Vision Diary was ready next to him, a new journal that Dudley had been given for his birthday by Mrs. Tacet in Number 8, and had thrown out because he didn't want to  _'write a diary like a little girl.'_ Harry had asked him if he even knew how to write.  
  
  
He fell asleep in a matter of minutes, tired out from all the weeding he had done in the frontyard during the day.  
  
  
He didn't know exactly what he had expected, and when he woke up with Aunt Petunia's screaming the next day, he didn't have much to write. But something about the Vision had felt so  _right_ . It made him smile a little, as he pulled out a spider from his dirty pencil pouch, grabbing a pencil and writing it down.  
  
  
_They had been flying._ He was sure of that, they had been flying, though that wasn't possible, was it?  _They had been flying, and Harry was laughing and smiling - there were people cheering - something small and golden glinted in Harry’s hand -_   
  
  
"Up! Get up!"  
  
  
Harry stuffed the pencil back in the pouch, biting back a small smile, absently scratching the angry, red scars on his wrists, and opening the cupboard door.  
  
  
  
_Happy Birthday, Harry,_ he thought, firmly.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
____________   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The first Vision that Ronald Weasley remembers, is the one he gets on his sixth birthday. Its sort of specific, compared to what a lot of his brothers have told him about.  
  
  
_He's choking, strangling, there's definitely something around his neck, he feels like he's dying - and then there's someone screaming -_   
  
  
He eyes the little black tattoo flying around his shoulders.   
  
  
It's a  _book_ , of all things - a book with wings, and its pages flipping continuously. Fred and George say that he should probably start reading if he wants to impress his soulmate. Ron says that maybe its the Mark of his enemy, instead.  
  
  
_Blue flames surround him, and he's falling, falling -_   
  
  
He cranes his neck to see his other tattoo, the one that's on his back, which said, in bold, black script - ' _STOP OR SHE DIES_ !!'  
  
  
Its his Mum, Dad and Bill who tell him about Soulmarks and Soulmates.   
  
  
Nobody exactly knows how the Marks appear or how the Visions work, some are direct names, some are important moments that a person might share with their soulmate.   
  
  
Often, people have multiple Marks and lines, Visions every birthday, and even the symbols or lines spoken by their worst enemies at the worst moments of their lives. There are Marks which signify Platonic Relationships, Marks that mean Mortal Enemies. There are Marks which describe the personality of their soulmate, marks which describe their enemy. There are visions of the future and the past, or anything really, that can give a clue to lead a person to meet their soulmate(s). They can be first words, or last words or any sentence that strikes in the middle. Sometimes, they're words which are spoken by people who barely matter to the person - it's all random, and yet, in the end, it makes sense.  
  
  
Even Muggleborns have them, the Marks and the Visions, but only very few Muggles can actually  _see_ the Marks of Witches and Wizards. They were usually quite personal, and nobody asked about them, atleast " _not in polite society, Ronald Weasley, and you will do good to remember that._ "  
  
  
Soulmarks are considered prophetic and although, many people don't believe in them, Mum says that they always prove true. Its the kind of Magic that never fails.   
  
  
_The blue flames burn everything except him, and he falls down to the ground safely -_   
  
  
It isn't Human Magic, Soulmarks are little puzzles, jigsaw pieces that Fate imprints upon Wizards and Witches, and everyone has atleast one Mark, every wix gets Visions.  
  
  
Its a beautiful concept, Mum says.  
  
  
_She smiles, and rolls her eyes at him,_ and every Vision ends like that.  
  
  
Ron wishes he could see her face, but he's still happy he can feel her smile.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
__________  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When Hermione Granger is born, her parents almost go spare when they see her.  
  
  
She has  _Marks._ All over her body. Black marks, that spin and move around, but the doctors can't see them. Only Jean and Daniel can, and they're scared.  _Terrified, really -_ because is this some form of a Devil's Mark? They don't believe in things like that, but it definitely doesn't look like a disease. The Marks  _move_ , all over her shoulder blades and collarbones and heart - and they're pretty, but the fact that nobody else can see them - it's unnerving.  
  
  
A little puppy barks at them from behind her right ear. Later, while Jean is researching all possible legends and myths, because  _logic_ is certainly not the way to go about this, she doesn't find much, but she does find out - the dog's breed is Jack Russell Terrier, and it grows old along with Hermione.  
  
  
When Daniel gives Hermione a bath, he takes care to be extra gentle with the row of Marks on her right forearm, three chess pieces - a Knight, a Bishop and a  _Queen_ .   
  
  
When Jean braids her hair into little plaits, she grimaces at the words printed on her upper back, mostly because she has no idea what they mean. But they're jagged and blood-red, _'_ _Look, Draco, isn’t it the Granger girl?'_   
  
  
Nobody else except the three can see the flitting Marks.   
  
  
Hermione gets used to never mentioning them, her parents get used to their daughter always searching for books with stories that match her situation. She never finds anything which she deems 'logical,' but she doesn't give up either.  
  
New Marks come up all the time, and they disappear all the time, except for the ones she was born with.   
  
  
A pair of antlers dances across her palms, as she writes her homework and she pretends that it doesn't make her curious in a way that almost  _itches_ .  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
________  
  



	2. you're a thousand times enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just putting this up too bcoz i felt like it

___________  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When Ginny Weasley is born, her parents blanch as they see the Marks on her.   
  
  
Her entire back is fragmented, by thin lightning fractals, criss-crossing her body, striking up on her upper back and crashing down on her torse.   
  
  
Harry Potter has a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Its common knowledge. So, he must be her Soulmate.   
  
  
It's perfect, she thinks.  
  
  
Her Enemy Mark, as she supposes it must be, runs across her Heart, and it says, in a neat, cursive print,  _'Don't thank me, you filthy little blood traitor.'_   
  
  
She wonders why she would ever try thanking someone like that, anyway.  
  
  
Her throat has a Mark, too, but it appears and disappears, blinks and stills,  _'Hello, Ginny Weasley. My name is Tom Riddle.'_   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
___________  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"A lot of times," Augusta Longbottom tells her grandson, who looks at her timidly. "You can't tell whether your Mark is a sign of your Soulmate, or your worst enemy. But your Visions will always guide you to your Soulmate."  
  
  
Neville - who dreams of yellow fields and warm butterbeer and sunflowers, of books held upside down and barefeet rustling on the grass - nods, and tries to look confident.  _Like his father_ .  
  
  
He idly traces the loopy writing stretching across his collarbones. ' _And I don't know who you are_ ,' it says, something he knows disappoints his grandmother slightly, the fact that he's always so invisible everywhere, so unlike Frank Longbottom. His ankles have curling words on it, too, his left one reads  _'There never was a Ravenclaw who proved thoughtless'_ and his right says, _'I think, your parents would be very proud of you, Nev.'_   
  
  
Its an unusually nice Mark.   
  
  
But sometimes, when his grandmother isn't looking, inky words blink into existence on his skin, ' _It’s got to be killed. Ron and Hermione know that, but just in case they - ,'_ his wrist says, and Neville wonders what that means, who Ron and Hermione are, what's got to be killed, why someone says that to  _him._   
  
  
_'I'_ _ll join you when hell freezes over,'_ his grandmother silently reads on the back of his neck, when he's sleeping on the couch.  
  
  
She smiles slightly as she mouths the words, but she doesn't say anything.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
__________  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco Malfoy is born with two fixed Marks, and plenty of moving ones. The ones that are permanent, are identical - and Narcissa Black Malfoy recoils sharply as she sees them, both names in chicken-scratch scribble.  
  
  
_Harry Potter,_ they both say, very clearly.  
  
  
Both.   
  
  
His Mum doesn't tell him, but he overhears his parents talking about how there's something  _so_ wrong, how his Soulmate is also his  _Worst Enemy._ Or maybe, they both signify Harry Potter as his Worst Enemy. He doesn't want Harry Potter to be his enemy, though. He never says that to his Father, who sometimes talks about the boy in slurred words, staring into his wine glass.  
  
  
_Harry Potter._   
  
  
As long as Draco remembers, he's worn wristbands on both his arms, and avoided any and all tactless questions about his Soulmarks or his Visions.   
  
  
_They fly a lot, together,_ in his Visions.  _He laughs a lot, they both look at each a lot. Draco feels so... aware of him, all the time. Like they're circling each other._   
  
  
Most of the questions come from Blaise, because he physically cannot hide his Mark, its the white outline of a huge  _Lioness_ that prances across his dark-skinned shoulders and arms, its tail swishing and curling around his ear. His ankle reads a,  _'Thanks, arsehole.'_   
  
  
Mrs. Zabini laughs when she talks about it. She says that its nice that she's going to have a daughter-in-law with some ' _fire in her.'_   
  
  
Pansy never asks him anything, either, but she wears robes with full sleeves all the time, and doesn't mention hers. Ever. She glares at him when he barely looks there, like it's  _his_ fault.   
  
  
Theo has flowers, on his back,  _yellow and black and purple -_ and they're really pretty, but he shrugs it off, and when Draco and Blaise and Theo are alone in the Manor, he says in a hushed whisper that he hates the  _whole_ concept of Soulmates, because his Father and Mother were Soulmates too, and look what happened to them?  
  
  
Blaise nods in understanding, but Draco wonders how you even know for sure who your Soulmate is, until you're  _happy with them?_   
  
  
For all you know, they could be your Mortal Enemy. Names are never reliable. Visions are.  
  
  
He doesn't tell Theo this. He shouldn't have to wonder whether his Mother and Father are Enemies, right? He tells his own Mother this, and Narcissa smiles at him, " _You did good, Draco,"_ she tells him, and shows him her wrist, where it says, in Father's handwriting,  _'Bella never mentioned how beautiful her sister is.'_   
  
  
Vince has the simplest Mark that Draco's ever seen, no words, no actual symbol - just three, thick black lines, horizontal on his chest.   
  
Greg has names. He says that his Mother doesn't want him to talk about it, because it isn't a Pureblood. Draco's Mum says that its not just  _'not a Pureblood,'_ rather, its a  _Muggle_ . Draco doesn't understand how anyone can have a Muggle as a Soulmate.  _Ew_ .  
  
  
  
  
  
____________


	3. i hope you stay around for a long, long time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the 3rd, _hope you like it_

____________   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco's Marks disappear a lot, and they appear again, but they're mostly not the same ones.    
  
  
A snitch zooms around on his left forearm a lot.    
  
  
A neat ' _You wish_ ,' floats on his chest.   
  
  
His stomach sometimes reads, ' _I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks_ .'   
  
  
Draco makes the firm decision to never try telling anyone about the right and wrong sort. Of anything. It doesn't always work, though, he has strong opinions about everything.   
  
  
When he wakes up on his ninth birthday, his Vision having spoilt his sleep entirely -   
  
  
_He was in a Train. The Hogwarts Express,_ he thinks,  _and his Soulmate is there, but he never trusts him, never acts like Draco's Soulmate should -_   
  
  
_Not on the first Train ride, not on the second one, and not on the last one. Never._   
  
  
_And then, there's a crunching sound like a bone breaking - and there's blood on the floor and blood on Draco's foot -_   
  
  
\- his Mother gasps when she sees his face, and he runs to the Mirror. In bright orange color, it says across his face, ' _And that's the second time we've saved your life tonight, you two-faced bastard!_ _'_   
  
  
Draco wonders whether he'll say that to someone, or someone would say that to him.    
  
It doesn't much sound like him, but who knows.   
  
  
Maybe, someday,  _Draco_ would save someone's life.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
___________   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Pansy glares at her arms all the time, and so does her Mother, and so does her Sister, and so does her Father, but Pansy doesn't understand what's her fault in it.    
  
  
Both her arms are horribly marked, they're cruel, and demeaning, and if she looks at them too long, she has to squeeze her eyes shut till the tears go away.   
  
  
_'Just because Draco won't shag you?'_ her left arm reads, in a wide, slanting writing. She barely understands the meaning of the word for a few years. She understands enough, though.   
  
Her ankle has words too, tiny and smudged, ' _But he’s there! Potter’s there! Someone grab him!'_ and she wonders why that sounds bad, too.    
  
  
Her Visions are beautiful, though.    
  
  
_Pansy's hand is tiny compared to his, as he wraps his hand in hers, and she's laughing as he removes his jacket and wraps that around her, too. She glares at him as he starts shrugging off his scarf and gloves._   
  
_"I told you it'll get cold, Pans," he says, sounding worried and she tries desperately to remember his voice._   
  
_"And I told you," Pansy replies, in the Vision. "I look gorgeous in this muggle cross-wrap, and so I'll wear it."_   
  
_The boy rolls his eyes._   
  
_"Besides," she says, flippantly. "You love it."_   
  
_Pansy in the Vision doesn't seem to hear him, but nine year old Pansy does, when he exhales, sighing fondly and in the misty fog, whispers, reverently, "I love you."_   
  
  
Pansy likes her birthdays.   
  
  
She fights with Draco as much as she possibly can even when she doesn't want to, even when there's no need, because then, nobody will think she wants to shag him, right?    
  
  
On Draco's Tenth Birthday, he smiles at her when she hands him his gift, and something in her snaps and she yells at him, in front of an alarmed Narcissa, in front of her own Mother, and tells him, without mincing words that she hates him.   
  
She doesn't, though, and he seems to know that, because after his party, he comes and finds her, where she's sitting, sniffling, behind the Malfoy Manor Shed, ignoring the House-Elf who is wringing her hands and begging her to go back inside.   
  
  
"Pans?" Draco asks, his eyes wide, his cheeks flushed in the cold.    
  
  
"What?" she snaps back, glaring at him through wet eyes. He swallows, nervously.   
  
  
"...Thank you for the chocolates?" he says, after a pause, and Pansy huffs, looking away from him. "I got sixty-nine presents for my birthday, you know," he adds, with a mischievous smile, and any other time, Pansy would have grinned back.    
  
  
They've just learnt what the number can also mean.   
  
  
"Oh?" Pansy says, instead, coldly. "And what's that supposed to mean? Did my sister finally crack and tell you what's on my arm?"   
  
  
"No," Draco shrugs, and sits down next to her. The House-Elf sighs mournfully, and disapparates away. "I didn't mean - I didn't mean to say anything by - "   
  
  
Pansy hates it when people speak like that, and it's her breaking point, she snarls, angrily, making Draco flinch - and rips off the bandage, pushing both her arms towards his face.   
  
  
_'Hey, Parkinson! How much for a night alone, slag?'_ her right hand reads. Her left arm proclaims how Draco would never shag her. Like she even  _wants_ him to.   
  
  
He blinks. "Pansy," he begins, when suddenly, the Mark on her right arm seemingly shrinks and shifts to accommodate another line of black words -    
  
  
She gapes.   
  
  
Draco starts to smile, and shakes off his own wrist bands, and shows her his Marks.  _Harry Potter._ Oh. But, that's not what he's showing her. Draco's right arm also suddenly has a black print, which she traces, hissing in realization -   
  
  
She grins at him, a gasped laughter escaping her as he smiles back, gap-toothed. She pulls him into a tight hug, and whispers the words newly-printed on his arm,  _"You're a good friend, Draco."_   
  
  
He gets up, offering her a hand, and she takes it, pulling her sleeve up again, hiding the words next to the line that calls her a slag, words that she  _knows_ Draco will say someday,    
  
  
' _If you even look sideways at Pansy again, I swear to fucking Salazar, I will ruin you.'_   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
___________   
  



	4. i think i loved you in a different world, too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longer chapter than usual,, and first one that spans marauders' era ;) hope you like it

___________  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Petunia Evans is the only one who can see Lily's Marks. The only one who can see  _"what a freak she is!"_   
  
  
Severus tells Lily all about Soulmates and Soulmarks, his usually flat expressions lifting, his eyes bright and younger than usual. When they're about to go to Hogwarts, he lifts up the white bandage on his left wrist, and shows her, and its  _lovely,_ his arm - it's a curled vine with orange and red and white flowers on them,  _"They're Tiger Lilies,"_ he says, softly, wide-eyed, as Lily smiles at him.   
  
  
_"Best Friends forever, right, Sev?"_ she asks, and he nods eagerly, looking pleased.  
  
  
Lily has Marks all over. Colorful and bright and pretty. She likes them all, mostly.  
  
  
' _Alright, Evans?'_ her wrist reads, in pink and gold.  
  
  
She smiles at it a lot.   
  
  
In her Visions, they fly a lot.   
  
  
The next day, she jumps off a swing, too high and floats down instead of falling, and she and Sev start learning how to fly. She's flying. Like in her Visions. It doesn't feel very right, though.  
  
Sev and Lily are _flying._   
  
Sev says they'll be even better with their  _wands_ . Its brillant, she thinks. Magic is simply  _brillant._   
  
  
_'I'll hold him off!'_ her ankle says, in emerald green print. She wonders what that means.  
  
  
Black tattoos of Antlers appear on her hands all the time, attaching itself to her knuckles and her nailbeds, and they're very pretty, too.  
  
  
But most of all, there's a Mark on her upper thigh, that nobody but Petunia's seen yet, that she'll never tell Sev about, because it's an actual name, the real name of a real person - a person whose maybe meant for her.  
  
  
_'James Potter,'_ it reads in pale blue and yellow. She likes the name 'James.' Like James Bond. Like James T. Kirk. She likes the name 'Potter' too. Like Beatrix Potter.  
  
  
The day they go off to Hogwarts, she meets James Potter in the first five seconds of her Train Journey, and she hates him in the next ten seconds.  
  
  
She decides what Severus says is true, Marks sometimes signify Mortal Enemies.   
  
  
She  _loathes_ James Potter. She  _detests_ him. She  _despises_ his stupid hair and his stupid talks and his stupid eyes and his stupid grins -  
  
  
And when Second Year comes around, and she gains a new tattoo on her back, she goes to watch the Gryffindor Quidditch Trials. Not for James, of course, just because she wants to see them. Generally.   
  
She eyes her back in the large Mirror in the dormitory, craning her neck to look. The Mark is clearly of a  _Quidditch Goal Post,_ its red and golden.   
  
Potter's been talking non-stop, and extraordinarily loudly about Quidditch Tryouts in the Common Rooms for almost half a year now, and she knows he's trying out for the Team, so.  
  
Well, she's here now, and she cheers Marlene on, who is trying for the position of Beater.  
  
  
The Tryouts finish soon, and Potter doesn't come.  
  
  
Lily is  _not_ disappointed at all. Not even slightly. She hates him, anyway. She's just thinking about it so much because it's annoying, how he talked about it all the time, but he didn't even show up. That's all.  
  
  
Marlene and Black become the only Second Years on the Team, and Lily claps Marlene on the back when she comes back, grinning.  
  
The Quidditch Goal Posts, with the three unequally sized hoops, don't disappear from her back.   
  
  
She hides it from the girls in her dormitory for now, and she doesn't tell Severus about it.  
  
  
Third Year comes around, too, and along with it, comes Potter's strangely unnerving determination to get a date with Lily. She turns him down nicely, at first, but then she realises that he's not even serious, he's just taking the piss and so, she grows increasingly ruder,  _"Were you dropped on your head as a baby, Potter?"_ and  _"Yes, I'm not great at Transfiguration, and you don't know how to take rejection. We should work on these things. Separately,"_ and  _"No, Potter, I do not think I need to go to Hogsmeade with you for survival purposes."_   
  
  
She goes to the Gryffindor Tryouts again. Again, she wonders why Potter isn't there. He  _has_ been talking about Tryouts this year, too, and he's  _again_ not here.   
  
  
She doesn't know why she wants to see him play Quidditch, anyway.  
  
  
Black keeps smirking at her, like he knows what she's doing, but Marlene smacks a Bludger on his head with her bat, so he stops.   
  
When Marlene's done, they both head up to the Tower, and Lily storms over to Potter, glaring, she doesn't know  _why_ she's so angry, she just is.   
  
  
It's silly, but it feels like Potter  _stood her up._   
  
  
"Why didn't you go for Tryouts?" Lily asks, scowling and crossing her arms. Peter falls off the sofa at her voice, and Remus and James turn to look at her. "You've been raving about them like mad for years, and when the time comes, you don’t even - "   
  
  
She breaks off, because James has started grinning like mad.   
  
  
"Missed me there, did you, Evans?" Potter asks, shooting Remus a smug look, who looks at Lily in confusion. "If you must know, I wasn't allowed to."  
  
  
"Allowed to?" Lily echoes, blinking, before she scowls again. "And  _no,_ I did not  _miss_ you, Potter, I just wondered where your House Spirit goes when you actually need to do something with it."  
  
  
James seems undeterred by the jab, and he shrugs and crosses his arms, too, leaning back on the couch and offering Peter a hand, who's still on the ground, gaping at her. "You shall be duly impressed next year, Evans. Minnie's lifted my ban. Fourth Year is  _my_ year."  
  
  
She wants to ask why he was  _banned,_ and also why Black wasn't, but then she realises that she doesn't really want to know the reason.  
  
  
"See that you're there, then," she sniffs, and walks off, aware that Potter's still shamelessly staring at her.   
  
  
Third Year flies by.  
  
  
On the first day of Fourth Year, Ravenclaw Beater, and Fifth Year Prefect Bertram Aubrey asks her out to Hogsmeade. The Goalposts on her back seem to burn, all of a sudden, and Aubrey is quite good-looking. Fit, too.   
  
  
She agrees, and she spends the first Hogsmeade weekend dodging Aubrey's attempts to snog her. It's slightly discouraging that he doesn't get the hint, and in the end, she braces herself for a sloppy kiss, because there's no way out without being really rude. It's not that she dislikes Aubrey, it's more that she doesn't want to do anything like that, right now.  _And certainly not with him._ Their lips are almost about to touch, when there's a sudden yell from their left, and then Black and Potter and Remus are standing there -  
  
  
She convinces herself that she  _does not_ feel relieved when Potter hexes Aubrey.  
  
  
No, no - she feels anger, at Potter, of course, and irritation, at Potter, of course, and she shouts, too -  _at Potter, of course_ .  
  
He smiles at her like usual, even when Aubrey assigns Black and Potter Detention, but Lily's gotten enough time to slip past, and so she does. Black shakes her head as she passes by, rolling his eyes, his wand twirling between his fingers.   
  
  
She sighs as she walks back to the Dormitory alone, because Mary is with Peter and Marlene is - wherever Marlene goes. Probably someplace she's not supposed to be. Dorcas and Alice are with the Fifth Years, too, the Gryffindor gang, Frank Longbottom and Kingsley Shacklebolt and all.   
  
  
She flops down on her bed, tugging at the sleeves of her jumper, when she realises she's just gotten another Mark. Its a Snitch, a golden and silver snitch, with white wings, and right in the centre of the snitch, it says, ' _J.P.'_   
  
  
She feels like screaming, as she glares at the blue and yellow Mark on her thigh.  
  
  
She wakes up on the day of Tryouts with a wierd feeling in her stomach.  
  
  
James Potter, is indeed there, and he does indeed try out.   
  
  
  
He  _flies._   
  
  
  
Lily's never seen anything like it before, in any of the Matches, even, never seen any Seventh Year student fly like that, James Potter on the ground may be irritating, clumsy, his smile lopsided - but on his broom, in the air - James Potter is  _mesmerizing._   
  
  
He's fast, he's focused, his eyes sharp and racing as he passes the Quaffle, as he shoots the Quaffle through the hoops, again, and again. Everytime he does, she feels a thrill go up her spine, and later she'll realise, that's because everytime he throws a Quaffle in, her Mark accommodates for him.   
  
  
  
James Potter isn't just flying on a broomstick.  
  
  
James Potter is  _flying._   
  
  
  
Potter isn't riding the air, he isn't riding the wind. He  _is the wind._ He flies like a bird, stormy and free and wild and -  
  
  
  
Potter gets selected, naturally, and everyone is so shocked to see him play because he's so good, Lily watches the Gryffindor Captain cuss Mcgonagall out for holding Potter back so much.   
  
  
Black and Potter look more like brothers, than ever before, as they high-five after a Goal, jumping on each other's broomsticks, often exchanging them. Lily's almost sure they can read each other's minds, as she sees Black letting go of his broom, not a trace of fear in his face, as Potter flies underneath, catching him smoothly and throwing the Quaffle in. Black catches his Beater Bat deftly in one hand, and swings his broom by another, knocking the Bludger out.  
  
  
The way they play, now, _that's Art._   
  
  
It turns out that the wierd feeling in her stomach was nothing more than a bug, and so she's in the Hospital Wing, when Severus comes in, hobbling slightly on his leg. Lily gasps, as she sees him, running upto him and trying to help him.  
  
  
But of course, she's underestimated Severus's observation skills, because his eyes immediately zero in on the snitch flying on her arm, narrowing as he looks at her, like she's  _betrayed_ him, or something.  
  
  
"You - you and him," he says, sputtering. "How could you, Lily?  _Him_ ?"  
  
"I can't help what Marks I get, Sev," she says, patiently, rolling her sleeves down. "Besides, he isn't as bad as you always say, you know. Some of the Slytherins who you hang out with, are worse, Mulciber and Avery and - "  
  
" _Not as bad?!_ " Severus echoes, ignoring what she really meant, like he always did. He grabs her wrist, before she glares at him and he lets go hastily. "He's - he just hexed me for no reason, right now, and you - you're saying that - "  
  
  
"He just jumped you?" Lily asks, frowning. "But I passed them on the way, here. They were getting stuff to eat from the Kitchens for all the Gryffindors, to celebrate. Why would he just randomly hex you?"  
  
  
"You were going to  _celebrate_ with him?!" Severus asks, sneering. "Because now Potter has another reason to talk about  _himself,_ all the time now, that's why you were - "  
  
"You started it, didn't you, Sev?" Lily asks, sighing. "I don't understand why you keep picking fights with them, especially when they're all together all the time. Four against one are hardly  _Slytherin_ odds, right?"  
  
  
"Oh, so now its  _my_ fault that they're always - "  
  
  
"Did you or did you not start the fight, Sev?" Lily asks.  
  
"Of course, I didn't!" he says, indignantly. But Lily's grown up with him, and he might have become an expert at lying, she can still tell when he's lying.   
  
  
She doesn't ask again, though. She's seen Potter pick on him several times, and Severus giving as good as he gets. She doesn't want to be in the middle of this fight.  
  
  
When she reaches back to the Common Room, Potter and Black are standing on top of the table, dancing and kissing each other. Lily watches Sirius pass Remus odd, worried glances, but Remus is sitting with Emmeline and Hestia, laughing and cheering them on.   
  
  
Peter and Mary finally snog, Marlene and Sirius also snog, then both of them pretend to gag in disgust, wiping their mouths and grinning at each other, and Lily smiles at Potter for the first time ever.  
  
  
  
He looks deliriously happy.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_____________   
  



	5. i can't function without you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, i am _baack_

_______________   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Bill Weasley's Visions are Silver.   
  
  
They're silver and _dancing_ and grey and _singing_ and a pale shade of pink cloth that makes Bill think of -  
  
  
_Ice. Thorns. Sharp. Something unforgivably beautiful._   
  
  
He traces the white and blue butterflies on his tanned, freckled skin, and the flowing script on his collarbone,  _'To_ _i et moi pour toujours,'_ it says and Bill likes it.  _You and I, forever._   
  
  
On his chest, another Mark unfurls, a bunch of flowers, that includes something that old Xeno from across the hill told him are  _Gladiolus_ flowers.   
  
  
Symbolizing strength, and fight, and sincerity and honor.   
  
  
_"That's badass,"_ Charlie says, grinning unashamedly, and Mum smacks him on the shoulder. There's a white rose, and a purple  _lupine_ flowers, and red chrysanthemums.   
  
  
_Love. Hope. Remembrance. Wolves?_   
  
  
Framing the flowers from the top, is a Tiara. Again,  _silver_ , icy tiara. But there's something about it that says,  _queen_ _._ That says,  _bow_ _._   
  
  
He likes that, too. The back of his neck reads a white, ' _I am good-looking enough for both of us, I think!'_ and that's nice, too.   
  
  
Fred and George have names.   
  
  
Mum goes quiet and solemn whenever anyone talks about it, because the names could only be of their Enemies. Or, so they think.  
  
  
_'Augustus Rookwood,'_ Fred's Mark reads, brown and ugly, in block letters.  _'Cassius Warrington,'_ George's Mark reads, but it's golden and green. Blue and white and black Magpies flutter around their Marks, and often, Bill sees the names exchanging. Like everything else they do, their Marks are also not their own, but shared.   
  
  
Its sort of amazing, in a way.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_________  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Sirius Black has one name.   
  
  
And hundreds of Marks.   
  
  
His Mother has exactly  _one,_ and it's a small snake, curling around her fingers. She says that's the sign of a  _proper Pureblood._   
  
  
Later, Sirius will wonder what this says about her ability to love.  
  
  
_Remus Lupin,_ his wrist reads, but instead of the  _'e,'_ there's a crescent moon.   
  
  
His chest is a map of Marks, if he goes clockwise, which he does, when he and Reggie count them all, again and again - there's a stag that gallops along his waist, and a Lion next to him, Sirius tells Regulus that it means him, that it means  _'Lionheart,'_ but Regulus says that that's too Gryffindor, so Sirius doesn’t mention it again.   
  
  
There's a big black dog that wags its tail, and a wolf that disappears and appears, seemingly randomly. There's a Bludger that flies everywhere, knocking the stag out periodically. There's a violet, jagged script on his collarbone that reads,  _'Ask me if I give a fuck,'_ with a dagger next to it and a neat writing that spells out,  _'I was born ready, Black.'_   
  
  
His Mother tells him that he must find Remus Lupin, he must get close to the man, because he is Sirius's Enemy. He's clearly a  _boy,_ who is also not a Pureblood, so, he can't be Sirius's Soulmate. " _What a strange name,"_ Walburga Black says, rather ironically.  
  
  
Sometimes, when Sirius is angry, when he's screaming, new Marks flash over his skin, red and crooked.  
  
  
_'HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!'_ his right thigh reads right now, and Sirius hopes he'll never actually kill anyone.   
  
  
He swallows, eyes the locked cellar door, counts till ten, takes a deep breath, and his thigh now says, ' _What's life without a little risk?'_   
  
  
He agrees, steels himself, and taking out the thin, long wire from his pocket, starts working on the cellar lock.  
  
  
Eight minutes later, he's back in his room, and Walburga is none the wiser. Regulus accidentally sees him when he's slipping in the room, but then, with expertise,  _un-sees_ him, looking the other way with a jutted chin. Sirius is sort of proud of him.  
  
  
  
The stag on his chest  _glows,_ as the Lion roars.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
___________  
  



	6. meet me at midnight, love

______________  
  
  
  
  
  
  
For a very long time, Marcus Flint thinks his Soulmate is Quidditch _,_ itself.   
  
  
There's  _no_ other explanation, no other reason as to why his whole body is filled with Quidditch-related Marks, Bludgers and Quaffles and Broomsticks and Goalposts, all on his back and chest and arms.   
  
  
Even his Visions only include Quidditch.  _Flying, and green grass and mahogany sticks -_   
  
  
He doesn't know whether that's good or bad, but when he's nine, in his Vision, he hears a voice. It isn't a girl's voice, which is strange, but also it means - his Soulmate isn't actually Quidditch. Just... Quidditch obsessed.   
  
  
He starts playing, too, and his Father encourages it, because  _'Heirs of Noble Houses'_ also know how to play  _'The True Wizarding Sport.'_   
  
  
And he loves it.  
  
  
When he takes off from the ground, his Marks jump and shine and his Visions get better, he can almost see brown eyes and a sheepish sort of smile, he can feel his Soulmate rubbing the back of his neck as  _he_ grins -  
  
  
Its a  _he._   
  
  
He is shorter than Marcus, from his point of view, leaner, and he laughs a lot, and when he laughs, his eyes crinkle on the sides -  
  
  
"Make friends with the Greengrass girl, Marcus," his Mother says, right before they enter the white tiled Manor. "They can make a very powerful Alliance for us in the future - "  
  
  
_I'm just ten,_ he wants to say.   
  
_Also, Daphne is four years younger to me._   
  
_Also, she is a girl._   
  
_Also, she's sort of scary._   
  
  
"Daphne is weird," he says, instead. "And very small. She doesn't even reach my shoulders."  
  
  
"She's not going to stay like that forever, is she?" his Mother hisses back, her tone a startling contrast compared to the blinding smile fixed on her face as she eyes Mrs. Greengrass across the lawn. "Go on, now, dear," she raises her voice slightly, "Be good, Marcus," she adds, in a sugary-sweet voice.   
  
Marcus sighs, and goes off to find the Malfoy brat and Daphne.   
  
He finds them, and Malfoy’s being annoying as usual, even though the younger Greengrass sister, she's still four or something - seems to love him. The Parkinson and Nott kids are fighting, like usual.  Daphne gives him the glare-nod thing, also like usual. Her Etiquette Lessons probably haven't begun, yet.  
  
  
For the hundredth time, he wishes his family didn't reach these gatherings so early.  
  
  
But then, in just ten minutes, Graham Montague's here, and Terence Higgs and Cassius Warrington and Adrian Pucey and Miles Bletchley, so, they leave the little kids playing, as they go and sit at the back of the Manor and talk big about Quidditch and Slytherin and whispers they all hear from their fathers' studies. Marcus likes to think that between all of them, they know quite a lot of gossip.  
  
  
Looking back, they're probably biting off more than they can chew, but it's fun, at the time, so they do.  
  
  
Marcus finishes telling them what he heard his Mother and Mrs. Burke talking about, the other day in the Parlor, and Warrington's fireworks go off  _again._   
  
  
Literal fireworks.  
  
  
Warrington is thus, quite irritating to be around, really, because his Soulmarks keep exploding randomly, the orange, red fragments of fireworks scattering all over his face. Marcus wonders how he's gotten used to it.  
  
  
Even the Quaffles are better.  
  
  
As a rule, they don’t talk about their Soulmates, because the thing is - they all know it means nothing much, not to them, not in their circles. Higgs and Pucey look at each other in a way that makes everybody uncomfortable, so they  _definitely_ don't bring it up in their presence.  
  
  
Bletchley, of course, is an idiot, and so he does.  
  
  
"Are any of your parents Soulmates?" he asks, abruptly, making Marcus pause and blink. "I just - I always thought that my parents  _were_ Soulmates. But, but, they're not."  
  
  
Marcus squints at him, wondering if he's taking the piss. But no, he actually looks  _heartbroken_ .  
  
  
Higgs snorts. "Of course, not," he says, passing Pucey a scathing glare, like always. Pucey sneers back. "In  _Proper Pureblood Circles_ , we don't let  _Magic_ decide who we're meant to be. We make our own choices."  
  
  
_Own choices._ That's fucking laughable, but Marcus doesn't express that thought, as Warrington tries to calm his raging fireworks down and Montague nods, slowly, looking amused and passing Marcus a knowing glance.  
  
  
"Yeah," Montague says, huffing a laugh. "Our parents give up their Soulmates completely, right, Higgs? For a proper  _Pureblood Marriage,_ based on love and respect and - "  
  
  
"Obviously," Higgs says, bitingly. "My Mother loves my Father. She never even  _tried_ to look for her Soulmate, because she was already happy where she was."  
  
  
Higgs looks pleased, until Montague smirks at him.   
  
  
"Oh, is that what she told you?" Montague asks, lightly, shrugging. "That's not what  _I've_ heard."  
  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Higgs asks, heatedly, and Marcus eyes Montague as his smirk widens.   
  
  
He doesn't explain, though.  
  
  
He doesn't need to.   
  
  
It's not like Higgs is blind. He's just hopeful.  
  
  
The next Vision that Marcus gets, it's right before his Hogwarts Letter arrives, but they're standing in a Quidditch Pitch, and they're yelling and Marcus is throwing punches like a feral thing -  
  
  
  
_"Coward!"_ his Soulmate screams.  _"That's all you are, a fucking coward!"_   
  
  
  
Marcus wakes up, sweating and scared and doesn't like him much anymore, either.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
__________


	7. love isn't supposed to tear you apart

_____________  
  
  
  
  
  
  
James Potter’s skin is littered with a series of rejections.  
  
  
_Of course not, Potter._   
  
  
Funny, how amidst all that, James Potter grows up with a firm resolve to never, _ever_ hear the word 'No.'  
  
  
_I don't want to go to Hogsmeade with you._   
  
  
"If she keeps saying this, all the time to me, Mum," nine year old James asks Euphemia, one night. "Why do I keep asking her, again and again?"  
  
  
_Honestly, Potter, don't you get tired of asking the same stupid thing? I said NO._   
  
  
Euphemia laughs, a little.   
  
  
_No, Potter, I do not like you and I definitely do not want to spend Valentine's with you._   
  
  
"You aren't somebody who gives up, Jamie," Euphemia says, simply. "And that's good."  
  
  
"What if my Soulmate  _never_ says 'yes' to me?" James asks, his glasses crooked as he looks at her with wide eyes. "What if - what if she's not even my Soulmate, and I keep asking her out and she's actually my Worst Enemy?"  
  
  
"I don't know, James," Euphemia says, tracing the white flowers on his stomach. "But I trust you. You'll make the right decision, sooner or later."  
  
  
_You're such an utter prat, James, I said no. Never, in a thousand years. And before you ask, not even after that._   
  
  
"She hates me," James says, gloomily. "She does. I can see it."  
  
  
"Jamie," Euphemia frowns, tickling him under the chin till he gives a weak smile. "If she doesn't like you, that's her choice. Then, that means you're meant for someone who's better for you. There  _is_ someone out there for you. You get Visions, don't you?"  
  
  
He does. But they're nothing like the Words on his skin. They're pretty, and  _green and red and they happen on country roads with fallen leaves -_   
  
  
"And moreover, you're  _my_ little boy," Euphemia continues. " _I_ love you. Your father loves you. Your Aunt Erica - "  
  
  
"Smells like old people," James mumbles, but he looks happier.  
  
  
" - loves you," Euphemia finishes, firmly. "You're going to go to Hogwarts next year, and I know for a fact that you will love it, and make lots of friends and - "  
  
" - learn lots of magic and blow everything up?!" James interrupts, looking excited, a glint in his eyes which reminds Euphemia to check for dungbombs under his bed.  
  
  
  
_Hogwarts is not ready for James,_ she thinks.  
  
  
  
"Maybe, not everything," Euphemia concedes, chuckling.   
  
The big, black dog on James's shoulder - the one that Euphemia had looked at first and panicked a little, because it looked like the  _grim -_ barks and wags his tail, his tongue lolling from a grin.   
  
  
  
The first time he boards the Hogwarts Express, he meets Sirius Black.  
  
  
  
"Serious?" James asks, frowning. "Serious about what?"  
  
  
"No, my name is Sirius," he says, lips twitching.  
  
  
"Yeah, most names aren't jokes," James replies, shaking his head. "Mine isn't. But I have a cousin who's called Amen, and - "  
  
  
"Not  _Serious,"_ the dark haired boy interrupts, grinning. " _Sirius_ . Like the star."  
  
  
James shows no sign of recognition.  
  
  
"The brightest star in the night sky?" the boy tries, looking pained. "The Dog-star? Sirius Black?"  
  
  
  
Black.  _Oh._   
  
  
_The Dog Star. Sirius Black._   
  
  
_Black Dog._   
  
  
  
The Mark on his shoulder burns, and James  _knows_ .  
  
  
"I'm James," he says, smiling back. "James Potter. My Mum hates your Mum."  
  
" _Everybody_ hates my Mum," Sirius Black replies, snorting. "Even my Father hates my Mum.  _I_ would be worried if your Mother  _didn't_ hate mine."  
  
  
James sees the way Sirius Black twists words and expressions, there's something almost artistic about the way he minces his words, how his eyes glance away when he twists the truth, how his long, pale fingers curl when he's making a joke out of something that hits him somewhere in a way that isn't funny at all.   
  
  
"Something tells me that we'll get along, Black," James says, smiling impishly and sitting down with a bounce, everything unrefined next to Sirius Black.   
  
  
There's something beautiful about this moment. Its the first flap of a butterfly's wings, it's the fall of a water droplet on a dry land.  
  
  
" _Sure_ , we will, Potter," Sirius replies, sarcastically, but under there somewhere, there's a hint of longing, something so vulnerable, under all the confidence, the grace that James can envy. His posture is straight, but not rigid, his head is tilted, but calculatingly, his stare is intimidating. James has never been able to move as fluidly as Sirius Black does, but.   
  
  
But.  
  
  
Under all of that, there's something that says,  _I've never felt safe._ There's a thread that's not made from the expensive cloth his robes are stitched using, a thread that says,  _I think I'm going to be all alone._   
  
  
James grasps it.  
  
  
The Black Dog on James's shoulder peaks out innocently from under his collar.   
  
  
  
_Mine,_ James thinks.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
__________  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'll update soon, _thank you_ for reading <3


End file.
